


Drunk on the Memories

by FablesRose



Category: Eliot Spencer Leverage, Leverage
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Singing, Song Lyrics, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FablesRose/pseuds/FablesRose
Summary: Eliot gets drunk with an old friend, they insist on singing to each other.
Relationships: Eliot Spencer (Leverage) & Reader, Eliot Spencer (Leverage)/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Drunk on the Memories

“Are you drunk enough yet?”

I shook my head and knocked back another drink, “Now I am, you?”

Eliot took a large swig of whiskey right from the bottle, “Hand me the guitar.”

I passed it to him with a smile. He grunted and strummed it a couple of times, grumbling that it was out of tune. He started turning the knobs to change the pitch of the strings and my mind drifted to the last time I had heard him sing.

It was years ago, we were both young, broke, and stupid as hell. His one brain cell was telling him to join the military, so that’s what he did. He was being deployed the next morning, so all of our friends and family gathered round a fire, passed the booze around, and insisted on having a swell time. It got to the point where we were drunk enough to do anything, so someone shoved a guitar into Eliot’s hands and told him to put on one last show.

He laughed but started to sing all the same.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war  
I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before  
I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar  
I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.”

Everybody quieted down to listen to him. It was an upbeat song, but it settled in that he was going to war. And with a voice like his, how could you not listen?

“I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn  
Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone  
I beg of you sarge let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn  
Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long”

Wolf whistles rose from our group as the energy picked back up again. His face was smiling, young, and full of joy.

“I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march

And I'd be sick on a navy ship, and the sea would leave me parched  
But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch  
Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict'ry arch”

We laughed. He stood and we cheered him on as he danced around the fire and wove through us. I became mesmerized by him as his voice seemed to light up the area as much as the fire, and warmed me the same amount. Before I knew it he was singing the last verse.

“Let 'em play their flutes and stirrup my boots and place them back to front  
For I won't be back on the rider-less black (jack) and I'm finished in my hunt  
I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war  
I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more”

I was pulled out of my trance as the Eliot before me started to sing, similarly drunk, but different in every other way.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war  
I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

Courageous at first we took their worst, our positions we held stout  
We clung to belief and we hung on the speech from our trusted leaders' mouths  
Overwhelming odds and a hopeless cause and our cities overrun  
There were them that said we was badly led and God were we outgunned”

When we met earlier he seemed okay, happy even, but with the alcohol came a weariness that only someone who had seen too much could hold. His hands were precise and aged, far from the man I knew that was young and quick, but they still held the same grace with the music.

“I lost count of the worthy mounts that from under me were cut  
My favourite mare with her head in the air took the cannons in her gut  
In the first two weeks on that bloody creek my brother lost his arm  
Was only sixty days till all we prayed was get us home unharmed”

My heart ached as I remembered similar prayers that left my lips, prayers for peace, for safety, for an end of the pain, anyway necessary at points. I could tell that more feeling was in this version of the song then the one I remembered so long ago. That every word that flowed from his mouth was a more of a memory.

“O for the day that we signed our names and the well that we were wished  
The men's congrats and the pats on the backs and the ladies that we kissed  
The band that played and the grande parade and the patriotic shouts  
All faded fast, didn't even last till the uniforms wore out

“We were finally forced to feed on horse and carcass we could scrounge  
When the wagons stopped and we'd burnt their crops to charred and barren ground  
With morale in doubt and our pride run out no honour did I see  
All I seen were a thousand dreams piled dead in front of me

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war  
I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won’t ride home no more.”

The apartment echoed the reverberations of the strings. I felt myself sway a little before I grabbed onto the counter with a clap. The alcohol was stirring up some unwelcome feelings in the silence.

“Come on little filly, I believe it’s your turn.”

I chuckled, shaking away the previous emotions, “Fine.”

I grabbed the ukulele that was laid on the floor by the counter.

He laughed, “You still play that thing? What are you gonna sing? Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”

I shook my head, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do still play this thing, and no I won’t be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

I did think about it. I will admit that, though only to myself. Instead, I chose something that I remembered. Something familiar. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it.

I strummed the strings, making sure it sounded right before plucking out a tune.

“So, so you think you can tell  
Heaven from hell?  
Blue skies from pain?  
Can you tell a green field  
From a cold steel rail?  
A smile from a veil?  
Do you think you can tell?”

I felt my eyes water. I kept telling myself I drank too much. It was the alcohol making me emotional, but I knew that was only part of it. It’s been years since I last saw Eliot. We had led different lives, but somehow we still ended up here, more similar than we would have thought.

“Did they get you to trade  
Your heroes for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
Did you exchange  
A walk-on part in the war  
For a leading role in a cage?”

Eliot’s face was blank, cold. Maybe he was lost in some memories of his own this time. I blinked away the wet eyes and focused back on the strings under my fingertips.

“How I wish, how I wish you were here  
We're just two lost souls  
Swimming in a fish bowl  
Year after year  
Running over the same old ground  
What have we found?  
The same old fears  
Wish you were here.”

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut.

“That was real pretty.”

I smiled bitterly, “Why thank you, you aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What made you pick that song?”

I poured myself another drink, “What made you pick yours?”

He paused, not expecting the question.

“Memories.”

I smiled and nodded, “Me too.” I moved to take a sip, when I hesitated and placed it back down, anymore and I would be sick. “You know, I sang that song to myself every time I missed you.”

“So once every couple of years?”

“Everyday sometimes.”

There was a pause between us.

“It almost hurt worse when I saw you afterwards, because I would still sing it. Because you still weren’t here with us, not really. Now here we are, both drunk as hell, both got dirt, probably more on our hands, and I’m singing it to you.”

I touched my face to find the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Now what does that say about me?” I wiped my face and sniffed, trying to compose myself again.

Eliot slid off his stool and stood between my knees, “It means that you’re still that same girl I left in that small and dusty town.”

I scoffed, “We both know that’s not entirely true.”

His hands came up to my face, “Sure it is, you’re still strong, beautiful, caring, and the best friend I could barely hope for.”

His hands were warm on my jaw, rough, but soothing. I couldn’t help but whisper, “What if I told you I wanted to be more than friends?”

He took a step closer to the point where I could feel his breath on my face. I looked up at him, still a little taller than me even on the stool.

“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you?”

“I’d tell you I feel the same.”

“Me too.”

He dipped his head to my lips. He tasted of the whiskey we’d been drinking, but maybe the taste of my last shot was just lingering on my tongue. His hands drifted to the back of my neck, his fingertips caressing my scalp. I found myself gripping his shoulder and forearm, trying to keep myself anchored. Eliot took another step that pushed my stool backwards. Now my back was against the counter and Eliot’s chest was pressed against mine.

We paused for a moment with our eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and I let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

Eliot’s hands softly untangled from my hair and drifted over my shoulders, down my back and traced my waist. He slipped them under my thighs and lifted me up onto the counter, pushing the stool underneath and out of the way. He didn’t make a sound as he wrapped is arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

I ran my hands through his long hair, holding him close. Eventually he left soft kisses on my neck, leading up to my jaw, before leaving one more on my lips.

“You don’t have to sing that song alone anymore, I’m here.”

“Yeah, you are. You rode home. You rode home to me.”


End file.
